Signs
by HoodedSpellcaster
Summary: Art class isn't a place to make friends. It's a place to end up getting a huge crush on a guy who doesn't know any signs. Because what would be more perfect?/ Muggle!AU. Deaf!Seamus. Pre-Slash. Deamus.


**Signs**

**A/N and warnings:** For QLFC Round 3, the prompts are listed in the end.

Muggle!AU, Deaf!Seamus, pre-slash Deamus with the dorks crushing on each other, art classes, attempted love letter/'I'm-gonna-ask-you-out' letter writing because who the hell said this would have to be sad, no mobile phones, Lavender and Seamus are good friends, there's some cursing, maybe a bit OOC (because it was hard to write a story where Dean and Seamus weren't friends from the beginning), if there were Hogwarts Houses Seamus would be in Hufflepuff and Dean in Ravenclaw.

And thank you to lovely Raybe for betaing. I couldn't have done this without you.

* * *

_"If you search for imperfections, you'll find them"_

– _Jose Enincas_

BUT

_"There is a kind of beauty in imperfection"_

– _Conrad Hall_

* * *

If I had to name the first turning point in my life, I would say it was an explosion.

No, not like those small accidents I had had in the past with my poor attempts with the microwave (note to self: do not put a spoon into a microwave) and other various household appliances. This had been a big one. A major one. A life changing one. You get the picture.

There had been a gas cooker in our kitchen when I was seven. Like a really old gas cooker. Fergus and I had been playing around the house, looking for trouble and having adventures only two eleven and thirteen years old kids could have, and from somewhere Fergus found our Uncle's lighter. Of course we just had to try it and that had been a wrong choice.

Someone left the cooker on.

And boom.

I woke up in a hospital in the middle of the night two days later. My Mam was there and she looked so relieved when I sat up and asked why I was in the hospital. She moved to sit on the edge of my hospital bed. There were tears in her red and puffed eyes, apparently she hadn't done anything else but bawled for two nights. She patted my hair and I asked my question again. I felt very dizzy and my voice sounded weird.

I didn't really remember much about anything that had happened in the kitchen; I had hit my head pretty hard. The doctor later explained that I had gotten a serious concussion, bruises and a broken wrist. He said it was a miracle both Fergus and I had survived.

But in the meantime my Mam's comforting words and explanations couldn't quite reach me and it started to freak me out when I saw her lips moving but nothing coming out of her mouth. I could've afforded losing an arm or a leg. I would've even preferred a gigantic scar on my face.

Because life would be so much easier if I could hear a thing.

Yup, that blasted explosion took away hearing – look Mam, I made a pun about the annoying as hell disability I have – and all I thought for few days was that everything could go only downhill from that point onwards. I was eleven. My life was just about to begin – I was about to start secondary school, get more friends, maybe join some clubs, and after couple years get someone to go on dates with. But after getting out of hospital I had absolutely no idea what to do with my life.

* * *

I'm not perfect. I never was but let's say there aren't many bright sides to being deaf. It's imperfection at its finest. Of course you can just close your eyes and since you can't hear anything you don't have to deal with 'listening' to anyone's bullshit but it gets boring soon, and now that I've been deaf for almost seven years it's just that. Though I've gotten used to not hearing anything it still sucks.

I need to pay special attention to people's faces when they talk because seeing their expressions helps me understand the tone they're using. I've become quite good at reading lips by now and sometimes people don't even realize I can't hear them right away. Speaking is harder because I don't always remember how some words are pronounced and so I prefer using signs. Or even write down what I want to say (which I hate because I never remember to bring a notebook and a pen with me).

At home I don't have such problems. Mam 'speaks' fluent sign language and Dad, well Dad comes around when he's not working. We talk using the alphabet magnets on the refrigerator door. It's kind of our thing.

I sigh heavily and out of boredom turn the page of the magazine I'm not even really reading. It's the last weekend until the start of the term. Mam's chopping vegetables. We're having casserole tonight. Too bad Dad won't be joining us; he's working late again.

I feel the wood of the table vibrate as Mam taps it. I raise my eyes from the magazine to meet hers.

'Have you considered joining any clubs this term?' she signs (and for the bazillionth time during this break) and I shake my head. I don't want to join any clubs or teams or anything like that. Mam's brows knit together and she purses her lips. 'You could get new friends?' she tries.

'I have friends.'

It's not a lie. I have lots of people at school who tolerate me. People like Lavender, and Hannah, and Ernie, and Susan, and Neville. That's five already. I tap my chin thoughtfully. I guess there are others as well.

I can see Mam rolling her eyes. 'What about that Cormac?' she signs hopefully. 'He's a nice lad.'

And here we go again.

'Just being your co-worker's son doesn't make him nice,' I sign back and grimace. 'He's far from nice.' For such a good-looking bloke he's not a very pleasant company. Actually calling him impolite would be improvement.

'Perhaps if you spent more time together then–'

'I'm deaf, not dumb,' I sign at her. 'I don't want you to try setting me up with all your friends' kids.'

Mam flushes. 'I'm not setting you up with anyone. I was just thinking that maybe–'

I raise my middle finger and shoot her with a look that clearly says 'screw you, Mam.' It's my own sign of telling her that I'm offended but that I appreciate her effort. She looks rather defeated.

'Oh, Seamus.' She pouts. 'You really need to get more friends.'

I wave my hand. 'No thanks.'

* * *

And that's how we get to the second big turning point in my life.

I ended up having art classes (which in Mum's opinion was a perfect way to make new friends) but I'm not artistic at all and so for an half an hour I've been staring at a blank canvas.

I startle when someone taps my shoulder. I turn around to see who had decided to bother me. None of my friends has art classes so it's partially a nice surprise when I see Lavender – beaming like always and with her notebook in hand – and her friend Parva… Pavar… Parava…? See? I can't pronounce her name even in my head. She and Lavender are attached at the hip. They're part of the team who run the school's paper.

Lavender knows very few signs. She has always preferred writing. She scribbles something down and passes the notebook to me.

_'Fancy seeing you here,'_ she has written.

I snort. Fancy I could've written the exact same words, Lav. _'Why are you here?'_ I write instead.

Lavender rolls her eyes and scribbles furiously. _'I'm making an article about deaf Irish kids in the art class. What ya think?'_

I stick out my tongue and snatch the notebook from her. _'Mam called you, didn't she?'_

Lavender grins, writes something down, and turns the notebook so that I can see.

_'She did ;)'_

What's with the winky face?

Mam likes Lavender. Not so long ago she wished there could be something more than friendship between Lav and I, but I made it clear that there will never be anything like romance between the two of us. We're friends, or like siblings. I would never date Lav, no offence to her. It would just feel wrong.

Lavender and Parvati – ten points to me for _hopefully_ getting her name right – had left me and started circling around the room. Apparently they really are making some article; Lavender talks with the art professor and Parvati takes photos of the class. I turn back to my art work which currently is nothing to be called art.

I pick up a brush and dip it in the bright red paint. Okay, here goes nothing. I grimace at the result. It looks more like a splatter of blood than art. How will I fix that?

A shadow falls on the canvas and I glance over my shoulder. You better not to be laughing at me and my nonexistent art skills, Lavender, or I will…

Holy bleep.

There is this guy who's totally not from my class, with dark skin and even darker hair, and he's even taller than Ron, and I can't breathe.

And he practically stares at me. My eyes widen. Oh fuck, did he just say something and not realize I'm deaf? Come on, Seamus. You've spoken English over half of your life, don't screw this up. Just because you can't hear your own voice it doesn't mean you can't say few words without sounding like a complete idiot, right?

"Did you ask something?" There you go.

He tilts his head. "No?"

Then don't stare at me like that! It makes me nervous! He says something – I know he speaks but I can't read his lips for fuck's sake because he mumbles – and looks at me expectantly. I just look at him without a word. What do you expect me to do? I snap out of my confusion and shake my head.

'Sorry,' I sign and my hands move spontaneously. 'I just thought you said something to me and–'

He raises his hand, interrupting me. "I don't read signs," he says awkwardly. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize… Yeah, sorry."

I want to slap myself. Of course he doesn't read signs. It's not something what (that) everybody just automatically knows. Well, it would've been too good to be true if he had known signs.

"No." I smile a bit. "It's okay."

He looks a little distressed as if it's not okay. "Well, see you around?"

He smiles and I just nod dumbly and watch him walk to other side of the class.

Oh, how I want to curl up and die. That's no way I'm getting new friends so thanks a bunch, Mam. Instead I end up getting a huge crush.

* * *

If someone in this school knows everyone, it's Lavender Brown. She knows literally everything. That is probably why she's the top reporter for the school's paper. We're sitting in the cafeteria and I don't bother trying to figure out what the others are saying – yeah, it would be nice to know what's so funny but I'll rather have my peanut butter and jelly sandwich in silence since Lavender likes to judge me about having the world's worst taste in sandwiches.

Speaking about Lavender, she tosses me a small crumbled paper and hits my cheek. I consider – and by considering I mean I'm already ready to toss it at her – ignoring whatever she has written but she mouths the words 'open it' heatedly and even waves her hand to emphasize her words. Parvati rolls her eyes at her. I hastily straighten the piece of paper.

_'Dean's looking at you'_ There is even a small heart drawn in the corner.

I turn my head as little as possible and glance over my shoulder. Holy shit, she's right. It's been almost three days since I first met Dean in art class. I remember that day all too well; I made a total arse out of myself and that's not the way I want to be remembered. I still have people reminding me of that one time I caused a small incident in the chemistry lab and sassed the professor.

So, the name's Dean Thomas. Got in with a sports scholarship and was in the relay team until the last year. It hadn't been a surprise that Lavender knew who he was because well, she knows everyone. And I just had to ask. Now she can't let me live that one down.

She tosses another paper in my direction.

_'He likes you ;) You should totally ask him out'_

_'HOW?!'_ I write in big letters on the other side of the crinkly paper and toss it back to her. She rips part of the blank page, writes something and tosses it at me.

_'I don't know and I don't care ;)'_

That's what she says but she has this maniacal look in her eyes that clearly says that if I won't do anything, she will.

But yes, if I want to humiliate myself, I'd rather do it on my own.

* * *

Life isn't sugar coated. It's not easy. It won't be easy. I'm not perfect, and I'll never be. But I can try and carry on. It doesn't mean that there can't be anything worth enjoying. I glance at the clock on the wall. It's past midnight and I'm still trying to get my thoughts on paper.

I write two more lines and frown at the letter as if the words would start making sense that way. I crumble up my poor attempt and toss the offending piece of paper to the other side of my room.

Should asking someone out really be this hard? Maybe, but maybe not. I sigh and pick up the pencil once more. At least I'm not giving up yet. I'll get there.

_'Dear Dean, hello…'_

* * *

**A/N 2:** The last sentence is a reference to one of my favourite Jean/Marco (Attack on Titan) fanfictions in AO3. It's called, surprise surprise, 'Dear Jean Hello' by FreckledSkittles.

**Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition Round 3 – Not Your Average OTP Round**

**Chaser 3:** Write about your OTP dealing with a physical illness

**Optional Prompts:**

**7.** (quote) 'If you search for imperfections, you'll find them' - Jose Enincas

**10.** (picture)

**12.** (word) coated

I really had plenty of ideas for this round but I chose to try this one just to, after getting about 1800 words in, realize that this may not match with the round prompt. Chaser 3 was to "write about your OTP dealing with a physical illness" and I picked a hearing loss. So this story was mostly about Seamus dealing with being deaf. Sue me.


End file.
